


i talk to god all the time (and no offence but he never mentioned you)

by orphan_account



Category: Ladyhawke (1985), Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF, Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, F/M, Fake AH Crew, Female Jack Pattillo, M/M, idk either
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-01-08 16:14:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12257787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: There is a warrior that is sometimes a wolf, who travels with a nobleman who is sometimes a hawk. And that's just fine, Jeremy isn't about to question the intricacies of the Lord’s methods, but he'd seriously like to have a word about His sense of timing.





	1. prologue

 

"We won't fit down there," Matt says placidly, but Jeremy has gotten to know him well enough to tell that he's a little amused. Progress.

"That might still be true if they fed us like men not like mice," Jeremy retorts. Six months ago, maybe. Sure he's always been small but he's broad enough when he has some muscle on him. "The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Only this time in the other order."

"I said _we_ won't fit, little thief." Jeremy looks up with a start. Matt's expression is gentle.

Jeremy swallows. "So we find another way. Okay."

"You just explained to me why there isn't."

"I alleged that, and we know I am not a reliable source."

"That everything else has been tried. No one has ever made it out."

"Based on rumours and hearsay."

Matt’s arm settles around his shoulders. "You spent the entire last week trying to shift that grate and if there's even a chance you might pull this thing off then you are going in that drain if I have to shove you down there myself."

Jeremy blinks. It’s not tears. It isn’t. "That's... I think the most words you have ever said all at once."

Matt laughs. Jeremy has chattered enough for two, these last months, but then neither cellmate has had many alternative options. Jeremy leans across and butts his forehead softly against Matt's, suddenly desperate to find a reason he can't do this yet, something unfinished or he hasn't thought through.

"Get in the drain, Jeremy."

_Lord, you waited for a very strange time in my life to show me a kind man._

Everything hurts when he finally tumbles into the river over an hour later, blinking at the light. He'd be a pitiful enough sight even not soaked to the bone, so he stays low and swims downriver close to the bank. The soldiers on the barge are too preoccupied with their meal to be paying enough attention to either the fish knife or the coin purses strung from their belts, so at least he knows he'll eat tonight.

 

*

 

The city captain doesn't offer her any of the courtesies usual to her station, but the smile he offers the duchess when she enters without knocking is tired yet genuine and she is struck with a sense of fondness. He is attempting to buckle his scabbard and she lets him fumble for a while before reaching forward and knocking his hands out of the way.

"It's true then?" She asks.

"Enough to have me take ten of my men to the road personally, whatever that means."

"The Bishop is furious," Jack agrees, "you can tell by all shouting he isn't doing. At court we're all walking on eggshells while on the streets they're whispering about a miracle escape from the dungeons of Aquila."

Geoff snorts. "Awkward, given his line of work."

"It's not really funny. Did he task you with bringing back a boy or a body?"

"Jesus-" Geoff says, seeming stricken. "I'm not going to kill a street kid because he got a lucky break."

"That's not what I asked you."

"Jack. He wants the kid alive."

She’s done enough damage today, so she doesn't wonder aloud if that will turn out not to be a kindness. She clasps Geoff's shoulder, absolving him of what she can. "This isn't the city we grew up in anymore."

Geoff sighs with his entire body, and he doesn't look at her. "That started a while ago."

 

*

 

Far away there is a hawk, and it arcs in the air above of the resting form of a man. He has the armour and sword of a travelling knight and the worn boots of a farmer, hair that curls across his eyes enough that he can easily pretend to be sleeping.

The hawk lands on the cross guard of his sword and preens.

The man allows one eye to open slightly, only briefly before the hawk's head whips around to look at him. He remains still. The hawk flutters in agitation.

"M'tired. Go chase rabbits." He says, eyes still closed. The hawk lands on his arm, slack across his lap. It cocks its head to the side.

"I said no. We'll barely make it by sundown." More fluttering, enough that the horse glances over, interested.

"A warm bed and hot meal are well and good for you, but I said no."

Man and bird regard each other until the man lets out an explosive sigh and starts to rise.

"You're a spoiled brat, Gav."

 

 


	2. it isn't polite to assume that someone is a liar when you've only just met them

 

Jeremy sleeps rough the first night, enjoying the sight of the stars too much to notice that he's shivering. The cold is different somehow, bites sharper but less bone-deep, not like the constant ache of the underground cell. A coldness he'd thought impossible to fight off, until two weeks in when he'd chipped away at his own paranoia enough to stay still when Matt rolled over and tucked Jeremy closer, Jeremy's back to Matt's chest.

He shivers, but he gets to count the stars in Ursa Minor under his breath and the sun on his skin as it rises is more than worth it.

He makes good time that morning too, but by the time the sun peaks he's passed another town and the comforts of a hot meal and an actual bed are gnawing temptations. Tucked into his belt the stolen coins are weighty - when he'd stopped to take stock, there had even been one or two gold among them. As the afternoon light turns deep and the heat softens, another smaller town is visible, just a short way northeast.

_Surely you would hardly put me back in the world not to partake of it, Lord? That would be cryptic even for you._

It is small, but it has an inn.

The inn is warm enough and clean enough, late in the afternoon enough that the farmhands are gathering in groups to salute the end of the work day with whatever they can afford to drink. Jeremy avoids the sharp-eyed young man tossing coppers for both beer and gossip - the bartender supplying both with amused ease - having known enough mercenaries in his time, and settles among the farmer’s sons and daughters eager for a tall tale from the city. He throws out a silver when he should have counted out the difference, and doesn’t wonder why the men at the third table are cloaked still despite the heat. When talk turns to the rumoured man who saw the dungeons of Aquila and lived to tell the tale, he pays for every drink to join him in toasting it.

God in his generosity might not be mocking Jeremy for missing all the warning signs, but a few lesser angels are likely sniggering. He wouldn’t blame them.

“Then you drink to me,” an amused voice carries across the room, and all stills. “I have seen inside.”

“Blacksmith or stonecutter?” Jeremy asks with forced levity, gaining a titter across the room, and swallowing memories of metal bonds. His blood pulses too fast and too warm to revisit that, though, so he takes a sip and smiles. “But regardless to you, then, who knows the truth.”

The man stands slowly enough to let the cloak fall soft to the ground. Armour and leather braces aside, the tattoos that stretch across his bare hands are enough for Jeremy to know immediately, even if the tired eyes didn’t strike a memory from when he was just a child.

“If you’d stuck to the woods you’d have had a chance,” Captain Ramsey says, absently.

“Yes, sir.” Jeremy says, and bolts under the table.

The thing about the city guards is that they are strong men, well-trained men, and men armoured to deal with a soldier wielding a broadsword, not a half-starved teenager scrambling under furniture. It’s an advantage for only as long as he’s fast enough. It’s a wide room but somehow he makes it to the stairs before he has to roll to his back as a blow to the side knocks him down, kicking out and making contact enough to bloody the man’s mouth and buy the time to scramble further up until he’s on the second floor. He slams doors open as he passes for distraction if nothing else, outraged shouts following, and takes advantage when he sees a half-open window through one of them.

“Sorry!” He yelps, running through the room, while the lovers duck undercover, cursing him out probably as much as he deserves. There’s a balcony out the window, and he reaches around for a handhold because if he’s fast enough to make it from there to the roof to find-

He isn't fast enough. He ends up off balance on the railings, arrows cocked in his direction from two men on the ground; the guard whose face he had acquainted with his boot has finally scrambled on to the balcony and has both a heavily bleeding lip and a grip on Jeremy's ankle. One sharp jerk back and Jeremy will be tumbling a storey and half down, and he flinches.

A loud clap, and all movement ceases. A pause, then another. Slowly another. Jeremy looks down as Captain Ramsey stops clapping as he walks out the door and surveys the scene. "Good try," he says, lacking any of the expected mocking edge. Just a statement of fact. He points once at Jeremy, then points at the ground in front of him.

The grip on Jeremy's ankle releases and it's so easy just to obey that he doesn't really consider what he's doing until he's clambered halfway down to stand where Ramsey gestured, and by then it’s too late.

Ramsey is taller than he remembers. His knuckles press lightly against Jeremy's chin, tilting his head up.

"Do you ride?"

"Yes, sir." Jeremy lies.

"Do I need to have you bound?"

"No, sir." Jeremy lies.

Ramsey's mouth twitches, and later Jeremy will very much wish he knew what he would have said next.

Instead, Ramsey’s eyes fix on something behind him and all colour drains from his face. There’s the sound of someone hitting the ground; Jeremy doesn’t dare turn while Ramsey still holds him still. “I’m looking to leave, so I would appreciate if you and your boys let go of my squire,” says a voice Jeremy has never heard before in his life.

“Hold,” Ramsey hisses, shifting in front of Jeremy in a way that seems instinctive, that makes Jeremy bite down on the deceptive want to melt into his grip. “…goddammit, hold- Michael, I told you not to come back. I warned you.”

“Didn’t listen to you even when you were my commander,” the sharp-eyed young mercenary says, who it seems is the man called Michael. “We’re miles from your city, or can’t you count? Go to hell.”

It’s apparently too much for the guard he knocked down to bear, insult to injury. He lunges up and even Jeremy, unpracticed in this kind of combat, can see the surprise flicker across Michael’s face as he half-raises his blade on instinct and finds it buried in the man’s chest.

And then everything does go to hell.

Jeremy has gotten this far alive by acting on instinct so he doesn’t stop to try and understand why it might be that Michael steps back even as he outdoes one opponent after another, blade raised flat in defence as often as striking quick, why Ramsey bellows orders to pull back. He runs. It’s what he’s good at.

Except.

Except that as he grasps at the gate he sees that blood is rising high and not every armoured man is listening to orders, and while Michael fends off two and disarms another a fourth comes behind and the heaviest thing within reach is a tankard, so that’s what Jeremy hits him with. He tries to keep running, or scrambling at best, but a tankard doesn’t prove much against an armoured man and he ends up on his back with a metal-clad fist to his jaw, and then again to his temple, and-

“Move,” Michael says, withdrawing his blade from the limp body above, while Jeremy gags over the fact that some of the blood on his face isn’t his own. He obeys, though, as much as he can, and stumbles forward with Michael’s grip like iron on his shoulders. When they reach the stables he sees several stalls that were full only two hours ago broken empty and realises Michael has planned this, though whatever appreciation he may have is immediately negated by the way Michael hauls him onto the front what must be Michael’s own horse like a sack of grain.

The ride hurts. His head hurts. He supposes the same would be true independently, but suspects the combination is not doing him any favours. It seems like days when they slow, but could only be less than hours. He allows himself to be assisted to the ground then takes a step back before his legs give way.

“Boy?” Loud. Agitated.

“Sir,” he slurs, trying to sit.

"That you have not had worse scars than you do, fool, you call that running from the law-" Michael hisses with anger, although his hands are not rough with Jeremy, and for that he's more than grateful.

"You wound me, sir," he says through a mouthful of blood. "I rarely have to run."

_We both know that's a lie, Lord, but he doesn't look fooled, so I hope that means I'm off the hook._

"Not today." Michael snarls when Jeremy's vision blurs and he hits the ground again. He is tilting Jeremy's head, which Jeremy thinks might have to do with why he's choking a little less. It might even mean Michael knows what he's doing, which is a nice thought for Jeremy to black out to.

 

*

 

Jeremy wakes up to dim moonlight with a thudding headache and tied by the wrists to a timber beam in what appears to be the upper level of a barn. Maybe this is a dream. Maybe he can wake up if he concentrates, and things will either be less strange or less terrible. He had his share of those dreams in the first month of prison.

"Hello, you," someone says.

The someone is green-eyed and looks like he was asleep moments ago, but his mussed shirt looks to be silk and when he opens his mouth it is not like anything Jeremy has heard before. He’s slender and moves with fluid confidence. A lord then, a foreign lord. Jeremy is somewhat relieved. Now he knows it's a dream. Foreign lords don't tie people to things in barns, or at least not people like Jeremy. What they do with each other is their own business.

He closes his eyes in case he wakes up and the man goes away. When he opens them experimentally a few seconds later he hasn't.

"My name is Gavin," the lord says expectantly.

"Jeremy," says Jeremy. Gavin nods.

Emboldened by that and the ache in his wrists he goes to speak again but hesitates, not sure where to look. What was it you do with lords, keep your eyes down? But Gavin is so expressive, mouth curved and glance constantly moving. Seems such a waste. Jeremy settles for ducking his head but looking up whenever he thinks it is least noticeable, and keeps his own voice as soft as possible.

"I know this is most likely not real, my lord, but is there any possibility of loosening these? Turns out ropes hurt in dreams too."

Gavin laughs in the same lilting way he talks, and he comes over immediately and tugs at the ropes. "Don't think about running," he admonishes and he pulls the rope away and even, startlingly, starts to rub the feeling back into Jeremy's wrists. "Michael seems really excited about you, and if I lose you he'll kill me. I locked the door anyway."

Jeremy’s head is still swimming and things are a little unfocused when he tries to stand so he sits back down again. Did someone wipe the blood away from his head?

"Why is my Michael so excited about you, then?" Gavin asks, having retreated back to the other side of the room.

"D-don’t know," Jeremy says. "I am dreaming, aren't I?"

"…yes."

Well, that's a relief, is all Jeremy can think as he drifts out of consciousness again.

He doesn’t precisely dream, nor probably sleep in truth, but a few hours later he rolls over and thinks things are a little clearer. The imagined man is gone, for one thing. The moon still sits high. It is both warm and comfortable and for a moment he considers simply staying, but the lock on the door remains there and there’s an ache in his throat at the thought. He’s itching out of his skin at the thought.

It's pathetically easy to pick the lock.

He climbs down and makes a brief search for anything useful, but the barn is relatively barren. That is not a problem. He knows the stars enough to find a way, and he’s been working with nothing ever since he can remember. He starts west, remembering talk of a port town, and he’s made it a few minutes into the woods when the wolf howls.

Wolves. Of course there are wolves.

The howl repeats, far closer. Running back for the wooden walls is less a hit to his pride than it is his judgement; he can see the moon still risen, knows he could have waited to see before he made the choice. He draws his breath in sharply as it starts to get short. If he can only be fast enough to get there before he’s scented. It is always foolish to hope, he knows, and the growl-

He falls, and the hulking silhouette growling at him like prey is one thing, that thing being what makes him freeze up where he fell as his heart pounds a drum and he closes his eyes so at least as not to see it coming, but the footsteps are something else altogether. Something impossible.

_Lord, I know I'm dreaming and shouldn't be overly concerned, but if I could wake up just a little before the part where I get my throat ripped out, it would be appreciated._

"Mogar," Gavin’s voice filters through, touched with a degree of exasperation and none of the appropriate panic. "Stop scaring him, he's only little."

"Uncalled for," Jeremy mutters despite himself and loud enough to hear, and the man's gaze flies to him immediately, delighted.

Despite all common sense the wolf seems to have drawn away. “I warned you not to run.” Gavin says, walking over. Delight, Jeremy well knows, is not always a gentle thing.

“Yes, my lord.”

A single finger raised, then tapped gently against Jeremy’s nose. The wolf circles. His growls are dimmed at best. “One chance to tell me why you did.”

There are a dozen half-suitable lies on his lip but there’s something predatory in how Gavin looks at him, and Jeremy knows if nothing else how falling back and baring your neck can sometimes be an offensive all of its own.

“I am more afraid of locks than I am of you,” he says.

Gavin blinks.

When the wolf starts to growl again Gavin gestures sharply, and Jeremy looks away when the wolf quiets, because these are things beyond what he understands or wants to. Gavin takes his shoulders and Jeremy allows himself to be moved back to the barn, even begins to climb the stairs before Gavin tugs him back down to the open floor and soft hay. “He’ll not come here. You’re alright, little Jeremy. You’re only dreaming.”

Jeremy opens his mouth, but Gavin’s fingers run through his hair. “You’re dreaming,” he promises.

 

*

 

Jeremy wakes to sunrise, pressed comfortably into the hay.

“I wasn’t sure you’d make the night,” a voice says, half-distant, and Jeremy focuses in until he recognises it as Michael. Jeremy reaches for his wrists and feels for bruised marks, expecting nothing, or perhaps hoping for nothing. The skin is tender under his fingers and already discoloured.

_To see is to believe, but I do not believe what I believe, Lord. I-_

“Can you rise?” Michael’s voice has another edge to it, one of agitation, and Jeremy scrambles to his feet.

“Yes.” He hesitates, attempting to piece together the day before. “I am no squire, sir.”

Michael smirks, and tilts his head to the horse. “You can take care of him?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then do it.”

It’s beautiful enough a beast that it's almost an honour, and he’s spent more than enough days as a spare hand in a stables to make too many mistakes, but the questions he quashes down seem to have more will than he does. “Why?” he says eventually, even as he hands over the reins.

“Why do you run?” Michael responds, barely offhand. Jeremy bites his lip and saddles the horse in silence. Above he hears a hawk call, and is distracted for a moment when it soars above in a wide, beautiful curve before dropping to settle on Michael's arm. He looks away, has a job to do.

When he is done he steps back, expecting nothing of acknowledgement and certainly not the grasp to his arm that follows. “We ride,” Michael says, and at that Jeremy draws the line.

“I owe you more than I can repay,” he says, as relentless as he can. “Either you will forgive me that or take recompense for it now as you see fit, but there is a strangeness that haunts you and I will be no part of-”

Michael’s grin as he spurs at his horse without releasing his grip around Jeremy’s waist, fine words or not, is a fiercely joyful thing. Jeremy, for his part, doesn’t plan on being trampled quite yet. He grips hard not to fall and Michael steadies him until he can swing a leg over the saddle. “You were sent to me,” Michael says, grip tight at Jeremy’s back.

Jeremy doesn’t want to know by whom, or what.

When they stop for water and to eat Jeremy asks “why me?” once more, because it has always taken more than once to beat a lesson into him. With the distance between them and their last camp Michael seems a little less tightly wound, and he leans back against a tall pine, long knife out as he peels an apple.

“You tell me why you say strangeness follows me, and I’ll tell you why.”

Jeremy hesitates. Jeremy presses his thumbs against his wrists.

“I saw a man,” he says, then he can’t stop. “I saw a man or something that looked like a man, he was almost… I don’t know what he was, I- he told me to go back to sleep and I-”

Michael has moved close, fingers clenching. “What exactly did he say?” Jeremy meets his eyes and sees danger.

“He said I was dreaming.”

Michael’s hands relax, seemingly unconsciously.

“And he was happy.”

“He was amused,” Jeremy says eventually, unsure how else to respond. “When I spoke to him. You said-”

“I did.” Michael says. “Price on my head or not, you might be the only one who is worth more should I turn you over,” Michael adds.

It would hit harder, if Jeremy hadn't been expecting it.

"You were the first person to break out of that fortress." Michael tells him. "Now you're going to be the first to break in. And I'll be the second, once you deal with a lock for me."

"You're a crazy man," Jeremy says, with the lucid calm of despair. "That explains a lot."

Michael ignores him. “Outer side gate would be best, if you can make it there. We can discuss it later.”

“If I may ask,” Jeremy asks, “why you would want to break into the city from which you were banished on what sounds like pain of, uh, lots of pain?”

“Oh,” Michael says almost sweetly, “I’m going to tear the Bishop’s throat out.”

He’s a crazy man, and he’s going to get Jeremy killed.

 

 


	3. I would like to think there is some higher meaning in this. It certainly would reflect well on You.

Jeremy discovers that the magnificent beast’s name is Sun, that Michael will insist that Jeremy takes his turn in the saddle even as he curses everything from the quality of the road to the man who made his boots, that when Michael chooses to shake off the stoic silence of a soldier on duty he doesn’t need the help of a single other soul to carry a conversation.

That’s in the course of one morning.

“You’d heard about me, before the inn?” Jeremy asks when they break to eat, and Michael pauses.

“Not by name,” he says with a smirk. “But yes, everyone from here to the coast has.”

Jeremy ducks his head. It is, he tries to tell his treacherous face, a bad thing, and neither a reason to smile nor flush red under another’s attention.

_I know, Lord, that you well know I never claimed to have more common sense than I am prey to vanity._

“I’ll walk,” Jeremy says a few moments later, moving to pack away the remnants of their meal. Surely they have reached the limit of the man’s generosity, and he’s not planning on pushing his luck. Sun is a warhorse not a pack animal, and one rider is well enough.

Michael looks at him like he’s an idiot. “It’s your turn.”

It’s an impasse they never have to deal with, as a panicked screech comes from the sky and both search for the source on instinct, Jeremy breathing out far too tightly when he sees the hawk moving and whole. The bird lands at Michael’s wrist and Jeremy is startled when he jerks it away in favour of his sword, the hawk chittering in protest and landing at Jeremy’s own shoulder.

Jeremy runs, if for no other reason that he knows he’s in the way.

As ambushes go, it is not the finest example Jeremy’s seen. He’s willing to bet they are as caught off-guard as he and Michael are, a chance meeting, and there are only a handful of them. Their commander is conspicuously absent, even as Jeremy searches for him among the moving figures. This is more frantic than anything, and he thinks perhaps it truly is by chance. They have the bird to thank, then.

He reaches for it at his shoulder, and despite its agitation the hawk is still there. Michael has one man down and strikes another across the face with the pommel of his sword, clearly reluctant to draw blood, when the arrow flies across Jeremy’s sight and just barely wedges into the ground near Michael.

The bird goes mad.

“No, no, no-”

There isn’t a damn thing he can do, as it takes to the air, but he breaks cover anyway. He calls for it. And when the second arrow hits home and the poor thing falls, the sound Michael lets out is something he can feel in his bones.

An archer discovers that a knight can be less than hesitant to draw blood.

“Take him,” Michael says, hauling Jeremy to his feet. He’s bleeding at the mouth. Jeremy didn’t see him get hit. Jeremy doesn’t know what he’s talking about, until a soft twitching little thing is placed in his arms, heart racing faster than his own. Arrow buried in its chest.

“I am sorry,” he says, with the bravery of panic, “but your bird is gone, he-”

Michael’s fingers around his throat are a message clear enough. “The hawk dies, you die,” he bites out. “Abbey, or what’s left of it. South. Man called Haywood. Go. Damn you, go!”

“I-”

“GO!"

Jeremy tucks the hawk close, and he rides.

 

*

 

It’s a fool’s errand and if pressed Jeremy will swear blind he only did it because it was easy.

_Every good thing I’ve known has come from lying. Let me have this one, Lord._

What is left of the Abbey is not quite south but it is close, and the man lingering at the gate is taller than Jeremy maybe expected. He dresses like a preacher.

“I have a bird,” he says, in the absence of any kind of guidance. “It’s hurt.”

“Good, boy.” the man says wryly. “Bring it up and we can dine.”

“Not this hawk, sir-” Jeremy starts, and the man moves like he’s been struck.

“The fool knight’s hawk?”

Jeremy chokes on a laugh at that, but Haywood’s expression is unmoving.

“Bring him up.”

Finding himself exiled to the cold as the light fades is hardly new but Jeremy chafes at this, at how Haywood takes the bird inside, tends to it and walks like the world depends on him. Jeremy's been turned outside before. But he has questions, and it isn’t that he doesn’t regret picking the lock, that he doesn’t regret the breach of trust. It’s just outweighed.

The door falls open and Jeremy bites back a smile.

Whatever he expects when walking in, this isn’t it. But he can’t really shake the feeling that he knew.

“Hello,” Gavin says, smiling through obvious pain. He gestures at the arrow in his shoulder. “Work in progress,” he mumbles.

“I’m sorry,” Jeremy offers, unsure how but truly meaning it.

“He’s alright?”

“As he can be,” Jeremy says, thinking of Michael's fierce desperation, and enjoys how Gavin makes a weak grasp for his shoulder, hates how he immediately flinches.

Whatever it takes to make it through this is going to hurt. When Gavin’s fingers curl around his he obliges as gently as he can.

“He talked about me?”

“Nothing else. He wanted to know if you were happy.”

Gavin sighs hard, but smiles soft. “Be kind and lie next time, and tell him I am.”

“Oh no,” Jeremy says, with the most faux despair he can manage. “Sir, I am not- please don’t ask me to lie.”

Gavin almost looks concerned until Jeremy plows on.

“With the change from beast to man I’d count myself bewildered, but then there is the other one, does he ever stop talking? I think he might be the greater menace. Tell me sir, if we avoided any place with drink, how would he fare? I am not entirely sure how that would work, I mean I've given thought-”

Gavin’s laugh hitches painfully, but he laughs.

“There,” Jeremy says, as soft as he can. “He laughed. I can say that in truth.” Gavin's eyes widen.

Haywood comes, and whatever he’ll do with Jeremy, it doesn’t entirely matter. He squeezes Gavin’s fingers before he goes. He’s earned that smile.

 

*

 

“You know.”

“No, sir.”

It’s true and not true and Jeremy will stand by it until the end, so go to hell. Haywood blinks.

Then he laughs.

“Cruel enough,” he says. “This one knows this shape while the sun is not yet risen, and the other-“

He doesn’t need to explain further as the wolf in the distance howls, and Jeremy hates it.

“Why?”

“They loved,” Haywood says almost indifferently. “As they shouldn’t, as the young are wont to do. Gavin? He was coveted elsewhere. Unfortunately.”

“So-”

“So.” He looks Jeremy in the eye and for the life of him Jeremy couldn’t look away if he tried. “Lovers in the city. A powerful man who thought he had prior claim. Who by tradition may have. They were young enough to know secrecy was needed and too young to know when to flee. Oldest story in the book."

"Except for when he isn't a man."

"Except for dark words and dark deals to make them walk night and day together but unable to speak a word in three years.” Haywood allows.

“Because they had enemies?”

Haywood blinks, then smiles. There’s no joy to it.

"Michael believes he knows who betrayed them because there is only one person he told. His captain, the man who trained him, and the man who has guarded Gavin since he was a child."

"Ramsey," Jeremy says under his breath, and Haywood inclines his head slightly.

"Geoffrey knew of their plans to flee, he helped arrange them. But he did not reveal them to the Bishop."

"Then-"

Haywood looks right through Jeremy.

"Gavin still went to confession. He trusted his priest."

"And Michael doesn't know?" Jeremy says, thinking of Geoff's panicked cries to pull back. Thinking of Geoff moving between him and harm without thought. If Gavin hadn't told Michael before, and never could now-

"Please, sir, he has to know."

"Then tell him." Haywood says, standing. Looming.

Wait, wait. "Do you know the priest's name?"

"Yes," Haywood says as he walks away. "His name was Ryan."

 


	4. He loves you more than life itself. He's had to.

 

“He laughed,” is the first thing Jeremy mumbles aloud, still shaking off sleep.

Michael looks as amused as he does tightly wound. “He had an arrow in him.”

“Yeah,” Jeremy agrees, tensing as Michael steps forward out of old unwanted instinct. “But also, he laughed.”

Michael’s fingers in his hair pull too hard and Jeremy goes pliant faster than he’d like, but Michael’s forehead presses against Jeremy’s almost gently, a strange half-there benediction, so he thinks maybe that was the right thing to say.

Haywood is at the balustrade with a hawk at his wrist, deft fingers tucking away at stray feathers.

“He can fly?”

“Perhaps better not too far, for now.”

Michael nods, and Gavin preens proudly as he flutters barely a foot to settle at Michael’s arm.

Haywood shifts against the stone wall, and if Jeremy is sure of anything it is that this man wasn’t only ever a preacher.

“You picked up a stray.”

Michael moves forward reminiscent of how Ramsey did; without thought yet with intent, putting himself in front of Jeremy. “My friend and I ride for the city,” Michael says.

“For a confrontation.”

“For an _end_.” Michael growls.

“You can’t,” Haywood tells him. “As much as you want to.”

“Hell with that-”

“You came to me first with this lunacy, I listened. Now you do.” Haywood is implacable. “Day and night are not precisely your friends.”

“No shit.”

“But come day without a night and night without a day and this could end, Michael. I mean it stops, if you face him. Three years of searching and I think I’ve been allowed to know, to… atone. Just four days from-”

“Atone for what?” Michael all but snarls.

Oh.

“Atone for what? Tell me what, Ryan-”

Ryan Haywood. Oh.

“You… god, _Geoff_ ,” Michael is almost shaking. “I could have _killed_ him, I thought… you let me think, fuck you-”

“Mistakes were made.” Ryan says. He doesn’t back down from Michael’s gaze. “But I have been shown how I can correct-”

“You’ve been shown nothing,” Michael says, with a bitter edge of satisfaction. “Day without a night and a night without a day? No, you’ve just gone mad.”

“Maybe,” Ryan says evenly. “But it’s still your only chance.”

“Gavin’s alive, which is the only reason you still are.” Michael spits out. “Damn you,” before turning and storming out.

“Yes,” Ryan says under his breath, and Jeremy thinks maybe he was not supposed to hear it.

He pretends he didn’t, and follows Michael.

 

*

 

“Mogar?” Jeremy asks, eventually, both because silence is worse and because despite all of Matt’s finest efforts he never really did have a good grip on self-preservation.

Michael barks out a laugh. “He’s still going on with that?”

“Mhhm.” Jeremy affirms, and from on high the hawk sounds almost offended.

“I’m flattered,” Michael tells the sky. Then shakes his head. “Asshole.”

It breaks the tension enough to speak freely, so when they stop to rest Jeremy is woefully unprepared to be pushed against a tree and held fast.

“I-”

“Shut up, let me say it.” Michael says, and lets go almost immediately. “I’m riding to Aquila.”

“To tear the Bishop’s throat out.” Jeremy finishes. He has not been informed, as such, where this strange curse is rooted. If he had to take a wild guess, though.

“You help me, I get what I want.” Michael shifts awkwardly. “You have no reason to trust this but I can get what you want too.”

“And if I don’t want anything-” Jeremy asks, because yeah, no good at self-preservation.

“We go anyway,” Michael snaps, not even in the realm of apologetic.

“Okay,” Jeremy says, and tries to think fast only to realise he doesn’t need to think about this at all.

“You have something you want?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’d die for it.”

It’s barely a question. Jeremy thinks about a pardon in his hand for a name that isn’t his.

“Yes, sir.”

Michael runs his hand through his own hair and sits like he can’t quite keep standing, like he was expecting a different answer. “Ask away,” he says after a moment, roughly amused. “It’s fair play.”

"Does it hurt?" Jeremy asks, eventually.

"You'd think so," Michael says, "Bone- bones breaking, I don't know. But I don't feel a goddamn thing."

Last night Jeremy had scrambled outside and pressed his back to the wall and screwed his eyes shut for sunrise, wanting to give Gavin the grace of privacy, wanting to keep that small voice alive that's telling him this is folly and madness that will end. Preferably soon. Soon, because he doesn't know how it works, how long they have to even try see each other before they lose the sense and memory to know it. He only knows the sound Michael made after the sun rose above the hill was barely human, like pain made voice.

"That's good," Jeremy says blankly. "Didn’t hurt. Good."

“Wolves and hawks,” Michael says. “Both mate for life. Couldn’t even leave us that.”

Jeremy says nothing at all.

“Get an early night,” Michael says, and Jeremy glances up. Michael shrugs. “I can barely keep him amused, god knows he won’t leave you alone.”

 

*

 

He doesn’t, and Jeremy is half-asleep and bad at hiding his delight when he’s jolted awake by playful prods.

“You’re alright?” he asks, already searching for any sign of hurt.

“Alright,” Gavin shrugs, and winces as he does but smiles quickly and honestly. “Hurts a lot, but Ryan knows what he’s doing. I’ll be fine.”

“Michael left you in my care,” Jeremy informs him, with all the seriousness he can muster. “And in my charge.”

“Fuck off,” Gavin says, and starts laughing only a second before Jeremy does.

“Really alright?” Jeremy asks when he gathers his breath.

Gavin makes a face. “Caught a rabbit an hour ago. Less disgusting a thought at the time.”

“I can- no, I can’t imagine.” Jeremy says, and sets Gavin off all over again.

It aches a little, how full of life this man is with every move and how long even this meagre interaction must have been denied him. Jeremy’s no lord or courtier, and there’s little he can offer, but-

“What do you miss?” He asks, before he can talk himself out of it.

Gavin tilts his head. “What do I miss?”

“Yes,” Jeremy says, getting to his feet. “What do you miss, My L- Gavin?”

“I miss him, you know-” Gavin says slowly, like he’s tried to convince himself otherwise for a long time. “I miss the drinks and the dancing. I miss buying another silk coat because it’s this season’s green, and driving him crazy. I miss the small talk and the not so small talk. I miss the game.”

“Oh,” Jeremy says. “I don’t anything about silks,” Jeremy says. “And I couldn’t do small talk if you had knife to my throat.” He extends a hand anyway. “But I’ve seen them dance, at the festival.”

Gavin lights up like the goddamn sun.

He pulls Jeremy here and there like some sort of doll until he stands right, but Jeremy doesn’t mind. He knows how little he knows of dancing properly, like the fine folks do. But he goes where he’s put and Gavin holds him, close, humming something beautiful in Jeremy’s ear he thinks he maybe heard once as a child.

When the darkness shifts and Gavin spots it first, Jeremy wonders if this strangeness grants gifts to your sight, or if he’s just dealing with wounded pride.

“You’re following us,” Gavin accuses lightly.

“I know where you’re going,” Ryan says, dry as a desert. “That helps somewhat.”

“Michael is going to be furious.”

“Michael heard what I have to say,” Ryan says, and for the first time in knowing him Jeremy senses there is a break to it, a weakness. “I want you to have the chance to hear it too.”

Gavin looks to Jeremy.

Oh, _hell_.

“What do you think,” he says, like it’s a joke he can play off.

“I try not to,” Jeremy retorts in kind, but reaches for Gavin’s wrist anyway. “But I’ve fucked up a lot in life and it was never by lack of conversation.”

They both seem surprised at that and Jeremy turns away as quick as he can. What they have to discuss is not his to have any opinion on.

 


	5. I believe in miracles. It's part of the job.

 

When he returns Gavin is convinced, either because Ryan spins the story well or because Gavin was always more predisposed to hope. Jeremy’s money is on the second option. Gavin’s a dreamer, Gavin has ideas bigger than he is. Jeremy tries to match him, throwing out thoughts just to amuse them both, weaving a story or a song around them.

Ryan interrupts them, driven by a certain purpose.

They make a plan between the three, counting the dates carefully, and then make another one in the event that Michael won’t co-operate. They all know and don’t say out loud that they’ll have to use that one.

“He’ll be angry with you,” Gavin says, sounding concerned.

“That’s okay,” Jeremy says reassuringly. “He usually is.”

Gavin hugs him and Jeremy hardly knows what to do with himself. He’s a poor substitute for Michael but he hugs back in case it helps. “I’ll get you both there,” he promises, based on absolutely nothing. “I’ll get you there and you’ll see each other again.” _ _  
__

_Don’t look at me like that, Lord. I’ve said stupid things my whole life. It’s the only thing I’m good at._

Fate teaches him a lesson because they try to cross the river, frozen over, and it’s Gavin who steps on the weak spot of ice but Jeremy reacts quick enough to pull him away and the wolf goes under, howling in confusion. Jeremy reaches for him without even really thinking about it. He falls in as well and grabs for a grip on wet fur and doesn’t flinch when Michael claws at him, terrified. He grabs at the back of his neck, like he’s seen mothers do with their pups, and tries to pull him to solid ground. If he can just get him out.

He pulls Michael up enough to clamber to his feet on unbroken ice but is too tired to try and do the same for himself, gives in to the cold and isn't sorry to. Ryan hauls him out.

“Thank you, sir,” he says politely, “his name is Matt, if I did anything worth it please get him out,” and passes out to Ryan looking a little horrified, and knowing a little bit more.

 

 

*

 

 

They wake confused. Jeremy tries to keep up.

“If there’s even a chance-” he tries, unconvincing and shivering cold.

"This isn’t a fucking fairytale,” Michael snarls, “as much as it might fucking look like it. There’s no way that this ends well. But I’m going to get blood before I’m done.”

 Jeremy sort of loses it. He’s very tired, and everything hurts.

"Fine! Go to Aquila! Kill the Bishop, kill Gavin, kill yourself, nothing means shit to you except your worthless goddamned pride-"

Michael hits him hard and Jeremy goes down hard. He's resigned to taking another blow when Michael grabs him by the collar and hauls him to his feet, but instead Michael is staring at the start of the claw mark visible where his shirt is loose. Michael tugs it open.

There are two sets, dug deep from shoulder to rib across Jeremy's chest, streaks of heated pain against the cold of his skin open the wind. Michael is practically baring his teeth and Jeremy wants to run. He'd felt less like prey last night, even with the claws still in him.

"How?" Michael growls, at Ryan not at Jeremy.

"This fool didn't want to watch you drown, and you paid him back with those." Ryan says, carefully indifferent.

"You didn’t mean it, you were just afraid," Jeremy says soft to Michael, so he knows Jeremy doesn’t mind, doesn’t hold it against him.

Michael closes Jeremy's shirt looking a little bit like he's the one who just got hit, before cupping the back of Jeremy's neck and pulling him close until Jeremy takes a step forward and ducks his head just barely resting against Michael's chest. He sighs, resting finally, and Michael shifts like he's letting out a breath he was holding.

As they finish packing, he insists on Jeremy getting on the horse first, sitting in front of him. Less than an hour later, out of nowhere, they stop for water and Michael speaks.

"It was wrong for me to hit you. I’m sorry for it."

Jeremy's not quite sure what to do with that.

"I was mouthing off," he points out, reasonably. He’ll take what he’s due. The man is an officer of the city guard, albeit a temporarily disgraced one, and could hand out worse to a street rat like Jeremy just for looking at him funny. He’s mostly bemused that he hasn't been put in his place sooner.

"So?” Michael snaps. “Ga- People mouth off all the time. It’s not right."

He's holding himself stiffly and Jeremy has no idea why they are still talking about this, so he reaches over and lightly smacks Michael around the back of the head, barely a tap. Michael stares.

"Now we're even, can we get back on the horse?"

“Yes,” Michael says, sounding a little lost.

Well, good.

They ride to Aquila, and while Jeremy may have shut his mouth, that doesn’t mean he’s stopped thinking.

Michael is a stubborn reckless fool tearing himself to pieces like a wild thing caught in a trap and it’s no wonder and no fault of his given all the circumstance, but he is not going to do this to himself, because Jeremy is not going to _let_ him.

 

 

*

 

 

It’s a long ride, and he comes under Ryan’s attention more than he’d ever like to be. The man still unsettles him, a little.

"You convey messages. Perhaps... words of affection."

"They allow it," Jeremy insists, far too quickly and before he understands that was never the question. Haywood blinks slowly; this really isn't the time for Jeremy to be realising how rarely he does.

"I don't know why they didn't get someone sooner," he adds, half in jest, only a little rushed. Just make it a joke and it will go away. "Believe me, I am hardly expensive to keep-"

"It is kind of you." Haywood interrupts.

That's wrong, it isn't kindness, just greed. Jeremy doesn't reply because he isn't sure why he'd need to explain it. It’s no burden, how could it be? To share playful touches and gentle words is a gift in itself but he is the one who is a thief here, allowed to play at loving and at being loved with those not his and far above his worth.

_But you know well enough a thief is what I've always been, Lord, and you've been lenient so far._

There's only a few days left before they reach town; he stares at the road and tells himself he's not asking for that much.

In a few days, maybe everything will be fixed. The moon and the sun conspiring for a day is no stranger than anything else he’s encountered since meeting them. He can hope. Michael won’t have any reason left not to drag him back behind bars, but he might give him a running start just from sentiment.

Just a few days.

_Let me be their comfort when they want and their shield when they need, and I won’t ever ask you for anything again._

 

 

 


	6. I don't own the sun, I don't own the moon, they only come out when they want to and they don't care what I promised you

 

He has one more night with Gavin, and they spend it wasting time into the night on the side of the road. Gavin is cheerful around him but turns and says something quiet to Ryan when he thinks Jeremy has drifted off and isn’t listening.

“-don’t want to. It’s only half a life anyway and it’s the half when everyone’s bloody asleep.”

Ryan nods, a kind man but too bound up in an idea of duty or of guilt to recognise a stupid promise when it hits him in the face. Well, fine. Jeremy doesn’t know a damn thing about duty and never will.

“Nope!” He says, obnoxiously loud.

“You’ll tell me no?” Gavin asks, pretending like he’s joking but also every inch the imperious brat he probably was growing up. Jeremy just smiles.

“Yeah I will. None of that talk.” He grabs at Gavin’s hands. “You know what I do when I get to a problem I can’t solve?”

“What?” Gavin says, almost cautious about it.

“Cheat.” Jeremy tells him. “I just fucking cheat and then run really fast. And that’s what we’re going to do, when the moon falls asleep on the job, or whatever the hell Ryan is talking about.”

Ryan makes a sound of protest but doesn’t actually say anything, a half-smile on his face.

“I want to keep you,” Gavin says, like he’s just realising something. Jeremy kisses the back of his hand respectfully, because someone once taught him manners, and he shrugs.

“You can keep me if you like. He’ll bring you back to daytime, and I’ll serve him as long as he’ll have me.”

“Oh,” Gavin says, fond and amused all at once, “lovely, you just missed the point completely.”

Jeremy doesn’t know what he means, but it’s alright, and they talk about nonsense the rest of the night.

 

 

*

 

 

Captain Ramsey meets them in town with men that are either better trained or know Michael with fond memory. These ones hold when they’re told to.

Jeremy slips off the horse and Michael twitches the reins and moves a step forward.

“I’m sorry,” Michael says, without further explanation, “Sorry for thinking that of you, for taking your sword before I earned it.”

It’s a very good sword, Jeremy realises, finely wrought and jewelled at the handle and the kind of thing a father grants to his son.

“Keep it,” Geoff says, “God, I’m sorry-” and Gavin flies to him before he can embarrass himself with something more emotional. He closes his eyes when Gavin nuzzles at his cheek.

Ryan repeats back like he doesn’t want to do it what Gavin asked for, that he not continue if Michael doesn’t make it. Michael goes to protest but Geoff chimes in first.

“Like hell I will,” he says, “You two are going to be the death of me. Doomed love is for the young and the stupid, and you’re only one of those. I’m an old fucking man and I think you’re smarter than that. Now go prove it.”

Jeremy can see how he was Michael’s teacher.

Jeremy makes a run for the drains, because his job is to open the doors from the inside. That’s not really his job, though it’s part of it, and he glances at Ryan and for once they’re both probably on the same page.

Michael is going in for blood, but the two of them, they’re going to cheat, and if Ryan knows what he’s talking about, the moon and sun might be on their side for it.

 

 

*

 

 

The drains are no more pleasant the second time, but he remembers the way and he still fits, just about. God, it’s awful, and almost endless. He thinks about going back for Matt but it’d be better if he can earn this pardon, and put it in Matt’s name. To get to see Gavin and Michael look at each other for the first time since he doesn’t know when, before they take him away.

_I’m not a good person, Lord, but I might slip up this once and do something worthwhile. So help me out just a bit?_

He scrambles out in a corridor but he’s fucked up, and his heart sinks, because he’s seen. She’s beautiful and red-haired and instead of screaming for the guard she comes to him.

“The chapel is left,” she says, holding his hands unafraid of the filth. “Move fast, little one. I’m a friend of Ramsey.”

“Thank you,” he says soft, and moves fast. It isn’t polite to disobey a lady.

He makes it, ducking low out of sight, and pulls the doors open at the last minute. He has to hold on to them abruptly, too, because Michael rides into the chapel fully armoured on a goddamn horse, of course he does.

Jeremy has two impossible jobs to do now, one being keeping Michael from dying at the hands of these men, who aren’t Ramsey’s and are holding a great many assorted large blades, and also making sure everyone else doesn’t die at the hands of Michael. Ryan was pretty clear about that part. Keep the Bishop alive just long enough that they can confront him together.

Michael knocks down two armed men and the third drags him to the floor, and when his sword is knocked across the ground Jeremy grabs at it by the blade because it’s all he can reach. He cuts his hands open but he gets it back to Michael.

_I can do one good thing. I dare you to try stop me._

Someone pulls Jeremy up by the throat, and he’s had enough of this that he just hits them, as hard as he can. They fall down, and in that moment all the light falters, something moving across the sun.

They can’t see all of it, through stained glass, but the eclipse is lovely all the same.

The doors open and the red-haired woman enters, smiling pretty and out for blood as much as Michael is, just of a different kind. Gavin is on her arm. Gavin is on two feet and looks like he dressed in a hurry and it’s barely midday. Gavin is there, and Michael drops to his knees like he can’t see anything else.

Gavin walks past him until he’s standing in front of the Bishop, and holds out something small and leather. Jeremy recognises the little ties the hawk wore at his feet, though Michael never hooded him or tethered him to anything.

“Go to hell,” Gavin says firmly, and drops them.

Michael’s staring into nothing until Gavin’s fingers lace in his hair, and he grins and hauls Gavin up in the air, spinning him around. The sun is nearly entirely blacked out, just a ring of bright light. It’s a day and a night and the nicest sight Jeremy could hope for, made even nicer when the Bishop tries to get to his feet and demand they be separated, and it’s the red-haired woman who sticks a knife in his throat.

“Gavin told you where to go,” she says, sweetly. Maybe not a different kind of blood, then. “Tell them Jack sent you.”

Jeremy slips out while he’s still unnoticed. He’ll take his running start.

 

 

*

 

 

He gets away, which is sort of the entire point, and then he isn’t strong enough to stay away. He knows from rumour that the Duchess - Jack, and that's as unusual as it is fitting - the lady he met has Geoff at her side and all the right words to take the city in her hands, which is a relief. She’s a good choice. Gavin is reinstated in court, and heir presumptive. Ryan returns, though in what capacity is the thing of rumour. They say he tinkers and maps the skies and always seems to be a step ahead.

Jeremy isn’t strong enough to stay away, so he shows his affection in the slightly sideways way he finds himself doing most things around them, and attempts to rob them.

It’s a very nice house, and very nice silverware. He makes it over the iron fencing without trouble and avoids the dogs, then makes short work of the locks. He’s not looking to take anything actually valuable, and god knows he wouldn’t be able to pawn it if he did. He just has a little trace of a fear and wants to check they’re both there, both alright, then maybe take a little from the kitchen to last the next couple of days.

He ends up on his back, Michael holding him down. His heart is hammering and he really wishes it was from fear, because that reaction would at least make sense.

“What are you doing, then?” Michael says.

“I think he’s looking to get caught,” Gavin says, emerging from the hall and smiling wicked.

He really is. Jeremy leans into Michael’s grip, and can tell that it surprises him.

“You promised me, sir,” he says quietly. “Something I wanted.”

“I did,” Michael agrees.

“My friend,” Jeremy says a little hoarsely. “He’s worth ten of me. He’s still down there. Put me in his place if it helps, anything you want, but-”

Gavin swears and drags him away to tie clean cloth on the cuts unhealed as yet on his hands and Michael disappears somewhere to return, in the middle of the night, with Matt. He’s thinner than he was last time Jeremy saw him and Jeremy pushes everything he stole from the kitchen at him.

“You remembered me,” Matt says, sounding a little amazed, either at Jeremy or the bread in his hands.

“First kind man I ever met,” Jeremy says, hugging him and barely coherent. “It’s kind of memorable.”

 

 

*

 

 

They find a place in the household for Matt, but no one seems to know what to do with Jeremy. He charms all the cooks and housemaids with jokes and an eagerness to please, he’s comfortable enough with that, but Gavin keeps trying to dress him in silks and bring him to court.

“I’ll never be respectable, my Lord,” he informs him.

“Good,” Gavin says cheerfully, “neither will Michael. That’s why I like you both.”

That’s not quite true. Michael will have Geoff’s role soon. Jeremy’s skin kind of itches from all the glares sent his way and he doesn’t know a damn thing about politics, but he knows a little bit about people. Geoff and Jack dance around each other like friends who fell in love without noticing and too long after they’d put each other up on a pedestal. Being a Duke is probably going to be quite time-consuming.

“She’ll have to ask,” he whispers to Gavin, “he’ll never dare.” Gavin hums thoughtfully.

He prefers when Michael lets him train with his men out in the yard. He still favours speed over anything but he can give a hell of a hit when he chooses to. He and Michael arm wrestle, and Jeremy wins.

Geoff grabs him in the corridor. They were never really introduced, but Jeremy is sure he’s caused the man enough trouble in his life to be recognised. “Help,” Geoff says, eyes wide. “If I sit through another meeting I’ll throw myself out of the nearest window.”

Jeremy takes his hand like they’re kids and runs downstairs, out the back and through the bustling kitchen, where the chef simply nods him through and throws him a pastry, not even realising who Geoff is, fond of Jeremy like most of them are, which he will probably never understand. They get to the garden and hide behind trees, laughing a little.

“Never become a Duke,” Geoff informs him. “It’s appalling.”

“I'm hardly at any risk of that, my Lord,” Jeremy says, amused.

Geoff catches his hand. Jeremy worries he’s overstepped.

“Maybe call me that, just in public,” Geoff says, a little awkward. “Not them. It’s hard to believe someone loves you back if they’re scared to use your name.”

“They don’t need me to do that anymore,” Jeremy says, honestly confused. “They can tell each other now.”

“I am surrounded,” Geoff says, hugging Jeremy a little and kissing at his forehead to ease his words, “by absolute idiots.”

Jeremy resolves to leave that night. If he stays any longer he’ll get comfortable, and then they’ll never be rid of him. He saw this story out and he’s happy with the ending. His presence will only spoil it.

He gets about to the city gates when he’s grabbed tight. It’s Gavin, surprisingly, not Michael.

“Caught you,” Gavin says, as hesitant as he ever manages, which isn’t much. Then he kisses him. “You’re looking to get caught, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Jeremy says. He wishes he was stronger, but he isn't.

_Don’t judge me, you’re the one who keeps putting temptations in my way. It’s honestly your own fault, Lord._

“I’m no good and won’t ever be,” he says soon after, in the spirit of full disclosure. “I just steal things, it’s all I ever did.”

“Oh, like fuck,” Michael says, emerging at his back to wrap one arm around him. “I never met anyone who gave easier. But now they’ll have to get through me first.”

“He goes a bit feral about you,” Gavin confides, like Micheal’s not just there and heard him say it.

He’s the scandal of the court, the quickest learner in Michael’s training yard, and a general mystery. They’re both proud he is theirs and waiting on a thread of a hope for the day he calls them by name not by title, and when he does they share a glance and a sigh.

He’s never respectable, but they make sure he’s respected. It is, after all, what he offered them when there was no reason to do anything but run.

“You can leave whenever you want, and always come back,” Michael says, too early in the morning and heavy with sleep. “I know what it’s like to need to run sometimes.”

“Sure,” Jeremy says sleepily, pressed between them. “Tomorrow I’ll probably run away. Maybe day after.” He turns and cuddles to Michael, with Gavin clinging close as well. “Whenever you’re done with me.”

“Ah,” Gavin says wisely, “so never.”

 


End file.
